


Outstanding In The Role

by CopperBeech



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dom Crowley (Good Omens), Domination, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Horrible legacy operating systems, I'm still going to Hell for this, Implied Gender Fluidity, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, Kink, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, M/M, Microsoft is in league with the devil but we knew that, Pre-Antichrist, Prophecies, Sub Aziraphale (Good Omens), They just haven't said it yet, no real smut sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:28:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22174096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperBeech/pseuds/CopperBeech
Summary: Beelzebub orders Crowley to corrupt Heaven’s agent on Earth, in order to gain a field advantage when the last battle comes. It’s time for some inventive theatrics.Crowley flicked Speakerphone, so that he could set it on the end table and make sure the camera faced down. He didn’t trust Beelzebub to refrain from looking in. Usually zhe left him alone for months at a time, but this was the second call in a week.“Crowley. I wanted to know if you have developed a szzztrategy in that – matter we diszzcuszzed. Szzhould I add it to the agenda for the monthly all-handszz meeting?”“Ah – it’s really eluding me, Lord B. I’ve maintained observations (ssss, do that again), but nothing’s suggesting itself  (a little slower, sssss, Heaven, that’sss good).”“What is all that whisszzzpering? Am I interrupting a temptation?”“Just getting into – ah – the home stretch, Lord B. It’s a done deal at this point. Didn’t want to –-sss –– send you to voicemail.”“It sszzounds like gluttony iszzz involved. Not your usual.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 90
Kudos: 256





	Outstanding In The Role

**Author's Note:**

> Set a year or so before the birth of the Antichrist. Constant Readers will notice that I have apparently headcanoned the Earthly Delights shop into the various permutations of my GO universe.
> 
>  **NOW WITH ART!** See End Notes.

“You want me to _what?”_

Crowley usually managed to at least feign decorum in the presence of his Infernal superiors – he had developed a habit of clasping his hands behind his back so that he could make a succession of rude hand signals unnoticed – but this time the words leapt out of him before he could snatch them back. Beelzebub lifted zher eyebrows, which was about the greatest change of expression zhe ever allowed zhirself.

“I thought it waszz a fairly szzimple, two-word szzentence. Corrupt Aziraphale.”

“What the Heaven _for?”_

“That waszz going to be my next topic. Perhapszz if you could rezstrain your incredulity.”

Zhe held up a small fascicle of paper. “We have finally managed to decipher an Ismailian prophecy from the first millennium After Interference.” This referred to the brief life of Yeshua bin Yosef, reputedly the Son of God, though who wasn’t? “While we lack the most important prophecieszz, this iszz useful intelligence. Apparently the Principality Aziraphale iszz the one who will be charged with rallying the armies of Heaven and szzounding the call to the Last Battle. You szee the importance. It doesz not matter how you do it, but he muszzt lose his sztanding in Heaven. Ideally, we would have him Fall.”

“You’ve _got_ to be having me on. I’ve been up there thwarting him since the year Dot. Can’t imagine he’d be outstanding in the role. Believe me when I say I don’t see him leading a charge on anything except a dessert trolley.”

“It is a szoundly attested manuscript. We szztill szeek that of the English witch, and in that matter, by the way, Crowley, you are baszed in London, are you not? If anyone might…”

“He can’t even keep track of his own sword. Didn’t those Ismaili smoke a lot of Hasheesh?”

“Nonetheless, that iszz the prophecy. You have been able to obszzerve him all this time. Learn hiszz ways. Word is that he haszz gone soft. Finish the job.”

Crowley _hated_ these face-to-face meetings at any time. This had been all hush-hush, can’t use long distance communication, need to know only, burn after hearing. Probably Hastur had something to do with that. Hastur loved nothing more than winding Crowley up. Talking loudly in his presence about _classical artisanship_ and _shoddy modern mass production_ , never mind that Crowley could nudge a larger number of souls toward Deadly Sins with an afternoon’s work than Hastur could in a decade of _artisanship._ Batrachian bastard.

“I’ll expect weekly reportszz.” Beelzebub turned away. He was dismissed before he could tell zher why there was a problem with the plan. Which he wouldn’t have.

The problem being, he had already corrupted Aziraphale. Indeed, had been corrupting him enthusiastically, on a regular and consistent basis, for a number of years now. In fact, he had a date to corrupt him again tonight.

* * *

“I have never been told a single thing to that effect. _Gabriel_ does all the trumpeting, he's quite insufferable about it. Surely Hell is pulling your chain, Crowley.”

They were in the dining room of the Dorchester and Aziraphale was perusing the wine list. He knew it by heart, but always gave it his rapt attention.

“Zhe seemed pretty persuaded.”

“Well, you’ve told me how outdated their methods are. Honestly, I prefer classical forms myself, but one does appreciate some of these modern innovations. The way you reserved a table by just tapping on that new O-Phone of yours. Mortal invention can be quite dazzling.”

“iPhone.”

“Exactly. You did.”

Crowley gave up. “Angel, the thing is, _they_ think you’re this Future Field Commander. And I’ve got to tell them something. You have to work with me on this.”

“I can’t think why. Surely this Last Battle business is centuries in the future. Millennia, even. You’ve got all the time in the world to corrupt me.” The angel gave Crowley a look of supreme innocence, touching a finger lightly to his lips and puckering thoughtfully. Oh, we’re playing _this_ game.

It was going to be a long dinner.

* * *

“So what are we going to do?” Crowley returned to the subject as Aziraphale was contemplating the approach of the actual dessert trolley. By this time Crowley’s thoughts were running along the lines of corrupting him right there in the dining room, possibly under the table. Fortunately, the angel had splashed out for a room (Heaven and Hell both had the annoying habit of sending envoys to break into their respective reveries at the flat or the bookshop, though sometimes it was exhilarating to live dangerously).

“Need we start hammering out the details beforehand? It seems a shame to remove the spontaneity. You quite took my breath away last time, and if I’d _expected_ you to – “ he broke off as the waiter arrived at tableside.

“”No,” said Crowley as the angel sank his fork into an apricot torte. “I mean, how do I convince Bubs that I’ve corrupted you? I can’t exactly bring you back Downstairs as a trophy. They want you to Fall.”

“Well, dear, you’ve been putting in quite the effort.” Apparently the apricot jam had to be licked off each tine of the fork individually.

“If you were going to Fall from – _stop that, you know what you’re doing –_ you’d have zoomed past me a long time ago.”

“We could let them see that I’m doing temptations. The whole quid pro quo needn’t be made plain.”

“Someone would ask.”

“This all _started_ because you felt it was necessary to coach me in carnal temptations.”

“That’s what I wanted you to think.”

“I know.”

He was quite maddening, and intent on eating the torte as slowly and sensually as possible. Haute cuisine deserves attention, but this was ridiculous. Any minute now Crowley was going to rediscover the lost art of table tipping.

Aziraphale seemed to sense it. “Perhaps the check, dear,” he said. “I’ve booked us the room we had last time, the one with the ormolu mirrors and those extra water sprayers in the bath.”

* * *

“Damn. Sorry, angel, going to have to take this. Don’t – _sssss_ – stop what you’re doing.”

“Crowley, you know how I disapprove of this trend towards _multitasking._ ”

“You just stopped.”

“I couldn’t very well –– “ The phone sounded again. Beelzebub’s ringtone was the Fly aria from Offenbach’s _Orpheus_ (it had been the angel’s idea). Crowley flicked Speakerphone, so that he could set it on the end table and make sure the camera faced down. He didn’t trust Beelzebub to refrain from looking in. Usually zhe left him alone for months at a time, but this was the second call in a week.

“ _Crowley. I wanted to know if you have developed a szzztrategy in that – matter we diszzcuszzed. Szzhould I add it to the agenda for the monthly all-handszz meeting?”_

“Ah – it’s really eluding me, Lord B. I’ve maintained observations ( _ssss, do that again_ ), but nothing’s suggesting itself ( _a little slower, sssss, Heaven, that’sss good_ ).”

_“What is all that whisszzzpering? Am I interrupting a temptation?”_

“Just getting into – ah – the home stretch, Lord B. It’s a done deal at this point. Didn’t want to –- _sss ––_ send you to voicemail.”

_“It sszzounds like gluttony iszzz involved. Not your usual.”_

“Trying to switch things up a bit. Need to be ready for a task like this ( _yesss, like that) –_.”

_“And are you ready, Crowley? I hope I have not miszzplaced my faith in you.”_

“Oh, ah, I’m quite ready – _very_ ready – _sssssssss –_ ah, sorry, Lord B, gotta go _oooohhhhhhhhhh!”_ He managed to swipe the Disconnect icon just as coherent speech went offline.

“I resent that,” said Aziraphale several glorious moments later, at last lifting his head.

“ _Resent?”_

“What zhe said about _gluttony_. That was an epicurean undertaking.”

“Bloody well said a mouthful.”

* * *

“They could be testing you. They might suspect about us. The Arrangement, or –– “

“That we –– “

“Yes.”

“ ‘d thought of that.”

“I could smite you. To show that you’re outclassed here. You know, just sufficiently to make it convincing.”

“Why does it sound as if you’d enjoy that?”

“Just a little one. Not enough to really hurt. Only enough to leave an authentic smite mark.”

“Right, to go with – “

“Those have about faded out.”

“Time to put s’more on, then.”

* * *

“We can’t keep going around in circles like this. There has to be a solution that we just aren’t seeing.”

They were standing in St. James’s Park, flicking bread to a large convocation of ducks and one ill-tempered swan that occasionally batted the smaller fowl aside with a bitchy beak.

“You could come up with something about my being demoted. I _did_ lose a piece of valuable corporate equipment within days of going on the job.”

“That was a long time ago, angel. Anyhow, you gave it away.”

“We could say it resulted in a long probation. I might arrange for Gabriel to dress me down severely. He barely requires provocation.”

“Don’t want to get you recalled to Headquarters permanently.”

They contemplated the horror of that. No lunches at the Ritz, no meetings here in the Park, no….

“Do you know, Crowley, I believe that I’m quite in love with you,” said the angel softly, in an unexpectedly quavery voice.

“Yeah,” managed Crowley, sounding suddenly almost as undone.

Their hands had crept towards each other before they remembered where they were.

“I kept telling myself that we were just enjoying another of these lovely earthly pleasures. Like balsamic vinaigrette.”

“Like _what?_ ”

“Tart, and piquant. You.”

“I’m a _piquant tart?_ _What_ are you even _talking about?”_

The blue eyes twinkled. “You seem to be _some_ sort of a tart.”

“Back to the point, angel.”

“Your orders from Lord Beelzebub? Or that I’m – “

Their gazes met. The effort required not to kiss in front of a hundred ducks was heroic on both sides.

“And I’m –– "

“Oh dear. Crowley.”

“Now what d’we do?”

“What _can_ we do?”

“About –– “

“Yes –– “

“Something very in private. Now.”

* * *

“I’ll just have to tell them that you’re Fall-proof, angel,” said Crowley some time later. “I mean, if _this_ hasn’t made you Fall.”

“Love? Why would it – Crowley, they won’t _do_ anything to you, will they? If you say you’ve failed.”

“Nothing that hasn’t been done before.”

If this was intended to have a comforting effect, it didn’t. “I can’t bear to think of it.”

“Out of ideas.”

“What if you _did_ take me Downstairs and I made a show of kneeling before Satan? Pledging fealty? With my fingers crossed of course. I could tell them Upstairs that it was espionage of the first order. Very daring. You could give me some outdated tidbit of intelligence to make it look good.” Aziraphale had never really gotten over his love affair with the idea of undercover operations. So to speak.

“Boss doesn’t go out in public anymore. You’d have to kneel before Bubs.”

“You could bring me in handcuffs. What I believe the American press calls a perp walk.”

“Be serious, angel.”

“I am.”

Crowley found his eyes were stinging. “You would go down there? for me?”

“Absolutely.”

“ _Not on_. If you got hurt… wait! What if – that’s it – where’d I put my bloody shoes – that’s _it!_ ”

“Mpf, you’re squashing me.”

“It’s been staring us in the face.” Crowley was already leaping out of bed and into his trousers, which were snug enough that only a demonic miracle made leaping possible, and snatched up his sunglasses as he headed for the door of the angel’s flat at a jog-trot, stopping only to muss his hair for maximum casual effect. “ _Pulling your chain_ – the Speakerphone – leaving a mark – kneeling – handcuffs – got an idea, angel. Call you later.”

* * *

“Crowley, what is all this about? And why did you want me to bring a felt pen? Awful, modern things. There’s nothing like a good Waterman – “

“Angel, just get in here. Got some things for you to try on.”

“We tried on enough earlier – “

“No, I mean _things._ Dainty little things. I made a stop by that Earthly Delights place next door to you this afternoon. I don’t have to parade you around down there. Here, put these on.”

“What on earth – “

“We need to do a little fitting – and some rehearsing – “

“Crowley, you’re not making a bit of sense.”

“Haven’t you always loved the theatre?”

“Well – of course – “

“This way. We’re going to do a bit of it.”

* * *

Beelzebub was playing Minesweeper when the Skype tone pinged in, and ignored it at first. It was bound to be one of the Dukes, too lazy to get their arses down a corridor, or maybe Gabriel with one of his unsubtle flirtations. Then the popup flicked into the corner of zher screen. _Crowley._

Well, this was unusual. Zhe accepted the call.

“Evening, Prince Beelzebub. Or whatever it is down there. Busy?”

“Working late. I have a few minuteszzz.”

“Got someone I want you to meet here. Thought you might be interested in my new pet.”

“ _Petszz?_ Crowley, szzince when do we have petszzz?”

The pixelated image came into focus. There was Crowley, slouched on an ornate red throne, one foot crossed over the opposite knee, and wearing – or rather not wearing – _what the Heaven?_ One hand held a riding crop tilted back over his shoulder at a jaunty angle; the other, a chain, attached to…

Beelzebub frankly gaped. On his knees in front of one gilded arm of the throne, eyes downcast, white-blond hair catching the light in a repellent halo, all but destitute of attire and and restrained in what looked like a very uncomfortable position, was – unmistakably – the Principality Aziraphale _._ A wide, studded collar circled his thick neck, connected by a sturdy ring to the chain in Crowley’s hand.

“Nice catch, hey?”

Beelzebub drew a deep breath and blew it out, which might have been the first time anyone had breathed in Hell that day. “Crowley,” zhe said. “You’ve outdone yourszzelf.”

* * *

Crowley had settled on well padded, black-leather wrist-and-ankle cuffs, connected in a way that made anything but an awkward kneeling position more or less impossible. The only other component of the angel’s ensemble was a silky pair of almost nonexistent black briefs.

( _“I feel ridiculous,” Aziraphale had grumbled as he put them on, but had been forced to admit they felt nice._

 _“Nothing but the best for you, angel.”_ )

Crowley’s outfit, if it could be called that, consisted mostly of leather straps and D-rings, glossy stiletto boots, and well-filled underwear that matched the angel’s. The tip of the crop with which he was now lazily stroking Aziraphale’s cheek was adorned with a black bow, for a playful effect.

“As you can see, he’s very obedient. Say hello to the Lord of Flies, pet?”

Aziraphale turned the most sincere blue-eyed gaze he could muster at the webcam, about to speak. Crowley brought down the crop with the lightest of flicks. “Head down, pet. You will not look Zher Lordship in the eye.”

“Your pardon, Master.”

“Who’s your Daddy, naughty little angel?”

“You are,” answered Aziraphale meekly.

“You _who_?” Crowley’s voice hardened a little as he delivered another flick with the crop.

“You are, Master.”

“Impressive,” said Beelzebub. “You can expect a quarterly bonus.”

“And you're my very own little bitch, aren't you?” crooned Crowley, laying it on.

“Yes, please, let me be that, Master.”

“Will you summon Heaven to war?”

“Only if you say so, Master.” Aziraphale's gaze shifted briefly towards Crowley, with a desperate, worshipful expression.

Crowley leaned over the arm of the throne, fisting his fingers in the angel’s short locks to tilt his head back. Just below the hollow of his throat, where only an open collar would let it show, was the twin of Crowley’s snake tattoo. It had taken a good twenty minutes of careful work with the felt pen, during all of which Aziraphale had complained of it tickling.

“There you are, Lord B. Good as gold. -- Won’t you be?” Crowley winked for Beelzebub’s benefit. “He even does my washing-up.”

This drew a lethal side-eye from Aziraphale. Crowley flicked down the tip of the crop again.

“Eyes down, pet.”

The sound of Beelzebub’s keyboard came through the connection. “He does not szeem to have Fallen though. I can find no update in the Celestial databaszze.”

“Not surprising. I have it on my darling pet’s authority that they’re still running Windows 98 Upstairs. Blue screens everywhere. It’ll take them ages.”

“Ridiculouszz. All of our corporate sysztems have upgraded to Vista by now.”

“Even the mortals don’t have that yet.”

“We did szzome of the beta testing for them.”

“I _knew_ it.”

“Well, Crowley, congratulationszzz on an outszztanding job. Perhapszzz you can sszzkip this month’s meeting. You szeem to be enjoying yourszzelf.”

“Oh, I _am,_ Lord B.” He tipped the angel’s head up again, this time with the crop under his chin. “What shall we do to amuse ourselves this evening, my pet? Perhaps I could make you manifest some lady parts. That would be an interesting change...”

“Ah, Crowley, I require no further demonszztrationszz. Good work, carry on – “

Crowley made a conspicuous show of adjusting himself in the silk undergarment. “Perhaps you should approach the throne on your knees – “

 _“I’ve szeen plenty, Crowley! -- we szzhould get off thiszz connection_ , Heaven could be eaveszzdropping -- well done – juszzt – _never remind me of thiszz again_!” The image on Crowley’s screen shook and jostled wildly as Beelzebub fumbled for the touchpad at zher end, with a clatter of office paraphernalia falling off zher desk. The connection blinked out.

Crowley, near tears with silent laughter, slid down from the throne to fold Aziraphale in a crushing hug. They clanked a little.

“Performance of the decade, angel.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever been so embarrassed in my life.”

“You were perfectly ravishing.”

“If you’re going to – ah – could we get me out of this, do you think?”

Crowley snapped, and the ankle cuffs fell away. Aziraphale wanted to say something about the wrists, but proceedings obstructed conversation for a long minute or two.

“Would you?” said Crowley finally. “Give the signal like that, to start the last battle?” His lips were close to the angel’s ear.

“Crowley, I’m an angel. I – I have to follow orders, but – oh my dear – as long as you’re a demon, I don’t think I could ever _giv_ e that one.”

Crowley drew back, looking into the guileless bits of sky that were the angel’s eyes. He meant it. Tipping back Aziraphale’s head, he kissed him softly.

“So job well done then, after all.”

The angel jumped as Crowley flicked his bottom by stealth with the tip of the crop.

“You’ve been enjoying this _entirely_ too much, Crowley.”

“Feels as if you are too.” The silk wasn’t exactly concealing anything.

“And you never even _have_ any washing-up – _fffffffffffssssss!”_

“Yes, definitely – “

“You could at least take the rest of this off me – “

“Oh, I think I like it right where it is.” Crowley tugged the chain until the angel’s suddenly flushed face was tilted up again an inch from his. This time the kiss provoked a deep shudder.

The angel spoke in a wistful tone as their lips parted. "It _is_ rather nice, the idea of being told what to do by someone who actually -- " he stalled out on _loves me_. It took a bit of getting used to.

"Then I'll think of things."

“ _Lady parts?”_ said Aziraphale, out of nowhere.

“Just a thought. Night's young.”

“I’m not actually sure – “

“My pet. Just take direction. Whatever you do, you’re going to be outstanding.”

_finis_

**Author's Note:**

> NOW WITH ART! [Illustration of the tableau](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/copperplatebeech/624537443097526272) staged for Beelzebub, by the inimitable [Professor Flowers](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/professorflowers).
> 
> This started because of a Muslim Tumblr user's [Tumblr post](https://iprefertheterminsane.tumblr.com/post/189505034956/okay-i-dont-think-said-it-yet-so-i-guess-its), refound for me by reader Agatha de Galen, noting that in Islamic angelology, the angel Izrafil, who is a spirit of music (and let's not forget those evenings in the bookshop with the gramophone) is destined to blow the trumpet that signals the start of Armageddon, suggesting that Aziraphale isn't quite the low ranking angel that some might think. I took the liberty of making this prophecy a bit more obscure.
> 
> Copper's Inevitable Music Geek note: The Fly Aria assigned as Beelzebub's ringtone (it wouldn't really be a very good one) can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XzG4B8GiWKc). Eurydice is captive in the Underworld, Zeus takes the form of a fly to put the blocks on her, hijinks ensue. The singers in this video are a couple IRL, and let's just say they better be.  
> If you liked, share, reblog, comment! 
> 
> Come say hello on Tumblr @CopperPlateBeech


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